The Solstice Visitor
by PureBatWings
Summary: The longest night of the year arrives, and with it, a mysterious visitor, a letter and an invitation for mother and son...
1. In the Bleak Midwinter

**0 Magnum Mysterium**

 **20 December, 1968:**

"Across the pond, NASA is in the final stages of preparing the Apollo 8 mission with astronauts Borman, Lovell and Anders to begin the first manned Moon voyage tomorrow and now for the latest reports out of Parliament inWestminster, London…"

Impatiently, Eileen turns off the radio and looks at her son who's reading _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ at the kitchen table. "Bring in the laundry from the shed's lines, it's going to storm later tonight and you'll want an extra warm blanket for your bed come morning."

She goes back to scrubbing a particularly stubborn spot of grease on a frying pan. The leftover sausages willbe part of their breakfast tomorrow. Tobias didn't show up this evening—he doubtless went down to the pub tonight since it's a payday Friday and good riddance to bad husbands.

Severus sighs dramatically. "Yes mum," he says, sounding tragically put upon, but he sets down his book and slips on his peacoat, which is a bit short on him. He takes Mum's wand from her apron pocket as she continues to scrub.

Hegoes out the kitchen door into the moonless back garden andflicks on the torch. It emits a feeble yellow light that is barely enough to allow him to distinguish the brick path from the few remaining kale plants, dead flowerheads and the vegetable patches with their browning snakelike dead vines.

After a few minutes' walk, he pushes his way into the shed and flicks on the overhead light. He takes the step stool from its place by the southfacing window, stands on it and unclips the sheets and blanket that have been drying in the unnaturally warm space. The wooden clothespins go in an old large tin can on the potting table. He folds the bedclothes and puts them into the basket by the door and puts the stool away.

" _Finite incantatum_ ," he says and swishes and flicks his Mum's wand, ending her heating spell. He wishes he could use _Lumos_ to get back to the house; he really doesn't want to end up with the basket's contents toppled on the ground, his body entangled and scratched by the blackberry brambles when he trips over a protruding brick because the torch's batteries are nearly dead.

It's the new moon tonight, so it's very dark. Mum says no spells day or night outside in the garden,that would be ill-advised- a nosy neighbor could be looking out a top floor window and see what she should not see: magic at work in the world.

There's a muffled thump at the shed door that makes him jump. Is Da home already?Silently, wand in hand, he cracks open the door and looks out into the night. A movement at his feet makes him jump back, pointing the wand defensively before he realizes it's a just a very bedraggled looking short-eared owl.

He crouches down to see if it is injured and it half-heartedly pecks in his direction and hops into the shed before extending a leg with a letter attached to it. Cautiously he unties the missive, which is addressed to Eileen Prince, Spinner's Lane, Cokeworth, England. The bird blinks wearily at him and puts its head under its wing, leaning up against the shed's wall.

"I'll be right back with some water and meat," he promises the bird, and takes off at trot for the house, ignoring the uneven spots in the path in his skids into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

"Mum! Mum! You've got a letter by owl post and it's really really tired and out in the shed!"

His Mum looks up from the grey dishwater and soap scum in the sink and blinks. She glances at the envelope, smiles a rare mere flicker of a smile and, to Severus' intense disappointment, stuffs it in a pocket for later reading.

"I see…well, give me my wand back and let's not keep my letter carrier waiting for an early Boxing Day benefice." He hands her the wand and she goes to the junk drawer in the china cabinet by the ice box. She digs out a blown fuse, a length of twine and a paper sack that's been folded flat for reuse.

"Take this bowl of water and this old dish towel, Severus."

He does as he's told even though he's consumed with curiosity about Who Magical might have sent Mum a letter. He's never seen a real post owl before up close, just the moving pictures in Mum's storybooks.

Mum makes sure the shed door is firmly shut and the blackout curtain pulled across the window before she turns on the light and transforms the fuse into a dead but still warm mouse, the twine into a live vole over which she mutters a petrifying charm and the paper sack into a box with pine chips and dead grass shavings.

She has Severus put the dish of water next to the two rodents and enlarges the dishtowel into a blanket sized pile of cloth. She applies a localized warming charm to the makeshift nest in the corner while the owl bestirs itself and hoots gratefully before bolting down the mouse like a man throwing back a shot. It trundles like a geriatric goblin over to the dishtowel to settle down.

"Take all the time you need to recover,Hrattvaeng. I thank you and I appreciate your finding me. I'll have a reply for your mistress tomorrow. Severus will bring you more food and water in the morning, _slepp vel._ "

The owl hunkers down a bit more and is out faster than the shed light. Mum picks up the laundry basket Severus forgot and hefts it ontoone hip. She pulls the shed door shut and for good measure puts an overnight _confundus_ spell on the handle so the owl won't be accidentally disturbed.

"Did you tell it to sleep well in German or Dutch?" he asks when they're back inside the kitchen.

"Icelandic and Hrattvaeng is a female owl, they're a bit larger than the males of that species."

"She came all the way from Iceland with a letter for you?"

"Anna has shown her how to hitch rides on ships bound for Scotland or Ireland so she doesn't needlessly exhaust herself going the whole distance in one leg. Or on two wings, I guess you might say."

"Who's Anna, mum?"

"Ah, that's a good story for solstice tomorrow. Here's your blanket, my Prince," Mum says, and piles the coverlet into his arms and plops Roald Dahl's book on top. He goes upstairs, trailing a woolen corner snakelike behind him. It's just barely gone seven o'clock, but she knows damn well he'll stay up reading his book in his bedroom until at least half-eight while she reads her precious letter and then finishes _The Daughter of Time_ in her favorite fireside wingback armchair.

Severus is careful to make sure his bedside lamp is turned off before his father can be expected home once the pub stops serving drinks. Hedoesn't want a thrashing for disobeying his Mum, or whatever other excuse Da would manufacture if he saw Severus' light on and wanted to wallop him.

 **Faithful friends who are dear to us**

 **December 20, 1968 7:15 pm**

 _16 December, 1968_

 _Eileen, dear friend,_

 _I'm going to be in_ _Konungsgurtha_ _-_ _York, I should say, as of the end of December and hoped we might get together there to catch up on our lives in person. A collector in my subject area died recently and I'm one of four book and manuscript dealers in Northern European runes they invited to come over to England sort through his library and make purchase offers on his very extensive collection on Ancient Nordic scripts. Can you tell how much this opportunity makes this book dealer salivate in anticipation?!_

 _Why not take a short holiday –if you can get away from that simian Muggle hubby of yours, that is. Surely you can sweet talk him into making his own meals for a few days? If he says no, how about a nice petrificalis followed by confunduset tempus obscuram with obliviate as a chaser?_

 _I know, I know, your British Ministry is a lot stricter than we are about such things._

 _Can you get the money to get your train tickets north? I can cover your other expenses._

 _If you want to bring your boy (it sounds like he takes after his mother with his brains and I would love to meet him) I'm sure we can find something to interest him for a few days. There are several books I'll bring for his late Christmas gift, some things for you, and there are some magical sites to visit here as well. I am sending this to you on Jane Austen's birthday with my_ Sólstöður _/Yule greetings and my best wishes for a wonderful new year to you and young Severus._

 _(A thousand death shrouds on he-whom-you-married, may trolls devour his abusive hands and feet, may harpies squabble over his intestines while he yet breathes, may salamanders burn his hair and snack on his scalp skin like a bag of crisps. Too bad I stunk at the cursing part of my school's curriculum or you'd have been a very young widow years ago and your laws be damned. But I digress.)_

 _If you are able to come, send a letter by return owl and if not, send me a letter anyway. If you can't join me, I'll send your gifts in January to you the usual way._

 _I will meet you two under the schedule board in the main train station on the 30_ _th_ _December at noon unless I hear otherwise._

 _Liberty, Amity and Livres toujours,_

 _your friend Anna_

 _Suthergata St._

 _Reykjavik, Iceland_

 **In the Bleak Midwinter**

 **December 21, 1968 3:42 a.m.**

He wakes up the middle of the long night, happy for the extra blanket around his end of his nose is cold and he breathes into his cupped hands to warm it, wishing he hadn't inherited his Da's huge beak. There's an eerie tapping of ice pellets against his window. The fingernails of malevolent dead souls or banshees might make such a noise, he bets. The panes rattle a bit in the wind.

It's a very good night to be inside where it's warm, to curl up like an owl in a nest and hunker down while the storm blows around the sagging gutters of their roof. He hopes Hrattvaeng will let him pet her tomorrow, so he can see how soft her feathers are. He checked his almanac before he went to sleep. She travelled almost 1800 kilometers, if she came from somewhere near Reykjavik.

To put himself back to sleep, he thinks about all the words that begin with I that he can come up with. He knows his habit of listing things will put him to sleep long before he gets too far in the alphabet.

There are a lot of ice-related ones. Icicles, Ice dams, Ice floes, ice cream, Ireland,island (ile in French) andIceland with its fire salamanders, volcanoes and geysers and ancient language.I is for the pronoun for oneself. I was for idiot, imbecile, ignoramus and ill-advised and illness and influenza, which had carried off his Da's mother in the 1920s.

There is Iris the Greek rainbow goddess and iris the flower and the iris of an eye. Add an H at the end and it became Irish. Mum says you have to pay attention to details, a mispronounced word can totally change an incantation like the difference between using an herb's flower versus its roots can completely change a potion, causing a cauldron to explode. He finds homonyms interesting now that he's having spelling tests at school. He's very good at spelling.

There's inn like "no room at the inn" for Mary and Joseph and in as a place, "born in a manger." They talked about Christmas at school last week and how different people around the world celebrate Christmas. His teacher ignored his question when he asked what about people who weren't Christian, like Jews and Celts and Roman soldiers who worshipped Mithras before Jesus lived, did they celebrate the returning of the light at wintertime?

Sometimes he likes to ask questions that he knows will unsettle his teachers. Mostly, he keeps quiet except when called upon, so he doesn't have to write lines for being impertinent. Another I word. He might be an impertinent brat to his Da, but when he's grown, he wants to be thought of as intelligent and intense and…impressive. On that note, he rolls over, pulls the bedclothes up to his ears and drifts off to sleep again.

 **Joy shall be yours in the morning**

 **December 21, 1968, 8:44 a.m.**

The tea kettle's whistle wakes him. It's not a school day, they have off for over a week for Christmas hols so he's allowed to have a bit of a he opens his eyes, he looksfor a while at the greying slanted ceiling and traces the plaster cracks to the far reaches of the room, until he braces himself for the cold air he'll encounter, stretches, shoves his socked feet into slippers and heads for the loo. Teeth brushed and bladder emptied, he quickly changes from his pajamas and out of the woolen but shabby sleep-socks. Mum knit them over a year ago so they've stretched out some.

He shivers and throws on an undershirt and pants and, heedless of clashing colors, puts on a maroon polo neck, brushes his fine limp hair, and then layers on his favorite pullover. It's an acid green that he likes to think of as venom green. It's getting a bit short in the arms and tight in the torso and Mum's not sure if it will hold another extension spell without unravelling.

He suspects a pullover in an obnoxiouscolour like mustardy yellow that makes his skin look more sicklythan usual, or worse, one that's red, may be among his Christmas gifts. He doesn't like red. It attracts attention and makes it hard for him to escape the bullies' notice in the schoolyard or classroom. A pair of trousers, newer wool socks and beaten up shoes that were his "good shoes" a year back complete his day's ensemble.

He heads downstairs and politely bids Da good morning, quietly so he doesn't make a hungover Tobias wince and lash out. Severus sits at the table with his head down, hair in his eyes and doesn't say anything except "thanks Mum" when she slides a fried egg and last night's sausage and a bit of potato mash onto his plate and brings him his tea, milk with two sugars.

Tobias is downing a second mug of builders tea, dark as his eyes and temper. He gnaws absent mindedly on a piece of buttered toast as he reads about the threatened labour strikes in Northern Ireland. He turns the pages, flicking them like an irritable cat twitches its tail before it pounces and scratches.

After a half-hour's seething at the _Cokeworth Chronicle's_ prose and editorialsTobias tells Eileen not to keep lunch for him, he'll get something at the workingman's club where he'll be shooting snooker and talking with the lads.

Eileen looks at him and says, "Yes, Toby. May your long-odds horses win and your gold flow." Her hand twitches in her apron pocket where she keeps her looks at her oddly, shakes his head like he's confused and then, as an afterthought, he says, "Here's the household money for the fortnight, along with a bit extra I got as a holiday bonus," and stomps off. The house's very walls seem to sigh once he's gone.

Severus looks up at his mum, shaking his hair out of his face. "What did you _do_ to him? And why did you give him a Goblin farewell?"

His mum lets out a short bark of a laugh and puts the pound notes in her apron pocket. "I had some Felix Felicis left, saved for an opportune moment- he got it in his tea and I had some in my tea. The bets he thinks I don't know about him making should bring in enough extra money to sweeten his temper when he finds out you and I have gone to York for a few days after Christmas without him."

"We're taking a trip?Just us?Truly?" He wants to act grownup, but he can't help but bounce in his chair.

His only trip away from Cokeworth had been when he was four and Tobias had a great-uncle die. They attended the funeral, but unfortunately several family members were mentioned in the will, so Tobias' portion was only enough to fix some roof leaks that were beyond the help of discreet _Reparos_ and to cover a few small household repairs.

"Yes, my Prince. Now go feed Hrattvaeng, and I'll tell you our travel plans and about my friend Anna." Eileen doesn't bother with doing the clean up the long way by hand—a few quick household charms and the dishes are clean and dry and floated to the cabinet, the table surface is cleaned of crumbs and the floor mopped.

Severus takes the potato peelings scraps out to the compost pile. He goes out to the shed with a bowl containing another transfigured bit of string turned into a large mouse and a large mug of water for Hrattvaeng's water bowl.

She looks a lot less disheveled by the light of day, so she's been up long enough to preen her feathers into better shape and her eyes are far more alert. She hoots softly at him as he carefully sets down her breakfast.

"Here you go, Hrattvaeng," he says, trying to recall and imitate his mother's pronunciation. "Mum's got another mouse for you and I've got fresh water. You _sleppvell_?"

He crouches down and rearranges the sleep-flattened clothso it's more circular and owl bobs her head and eats the mouse in very few swallows. She then hops over to where he's crouched and puts her head under his hand. Very carefully he trails his long fingers over her head, back and wings. She does feel soft, but some of her feathers feel springy, too. Her talons are long and look wickedly sharp.

"You must be a terribly strong flier, I looked up how far it was between Coventry and Iceland and you've come a really long way. That must be one important letter," Severus tells the owl. The bird nods again and dismissively turns her back on him and returns to her temporary nest for another nap, so he leaves her to it.

 **December 21, 1968 late morning**

Eileen writes a quick note in reply, that she and Severus will be in York to meet Anna in the station.

She makes two cups of tea for herself and Severus and tells him about the day in Paris she met a salamander familiar and his mistress. She'd been intrigued by the offerings at a Monmartrestreet fair bookstall, some years after World War II had ended.

"It was a heady time to be in Paris, my Prince. There were suddenly no rations on fabric and Dior took advantage of it, fitted bodices with very long and full skirts. Paris was full of lively people trying to shake off the sorrows of war by buying things, going to clubs. And of course a woman in a dazzling dress needs a tempting perfume as well, _non_? I was an apprentice at Caron, the company that made Or et Noir," she began, blowing on the surface of her tea.

"I couldn't afford all the furs and diamonds, but I could buy books. The salamander I encountered, Oriflamme, was the familiar of Anna Sigurdardottir, the booth's owner. We struck up a conversation about books, runes in Icelandic magic and French perfume and we agreed to meet for coffee at the nearby Wizard café, Le Griffon D'Or. I had a few acquaintances in school, but some had died, some had gotten busy with a career or married and no one wanted to associate with the sister of a defeated dark wizard. Anna didn't know or care about Hogwarts and house rivalries. It was such a relief to just talk with another witch my age, another foreigner making her home in Paris."

Most of the time the salamander had curled up happily, napping in the embers of a small charcoal brazier that heated the stall, but it had condescended to sit in Eileen's hand for a snack. It was almost too hot to hold, even with an Asbestos skin charm in place.

It consumed the bit of amber Eileen had offered it from her necklace of chunky yellow beads. A fragrant resinous smell from its satisfied burp, (accompanied by a wisp of smoke and a few sparks) had lingered on her fingers for days, even after she'd washed her hands several times.

Mum showed him the small flame like scar its flickering whip-like tail had left on her forefinger as it dove back into the flames after its nuncheon. Mum said Anna told her thatOriflamme liked her – it only burned her a little because it was very partial to Baltic amber.

"Will I get to see Oriflamme, Mum?"

"Salamanders have to stay in fire most of the time, so I expect Anna will leave him home. There's a magma seam not far from her farmhouse just outside a small town north of Reyjavik. She's promised to show us around magical York and there's a concert of lessons and carols at the Cathedral we'll go to," she replies.

"Music like Da's music?" he asks, scowling. He didn't like rock music much. Folk was tolerable. BBC's classical offerings he mostly ignored. They usually listened to the Queen's Christmas address, though.

"Much older music than that, it's almost magical, you'll see what I mean when you hear it."

That afternoon when it's dim with twilight, he takes Mum's letter of reply to Anna out to the shed and carefully ties it around Hrattvaeng's leg. He opens the shed door, she looks at him and hoots.

"Goodbye, girl, örugg ferð" said Severus, and ushers her outside. With a few hops and flaps of her wings she takes off, a shrinking speck heading into the grey north. He watches her until she disappears and then dumps the litter box in near the compost pile, picks up the empty bowls and cloth and brings them inside.

Notes:

O Magnum Mysterium: watch?v=yCBh-R_ng9A

In the Bleak Midwinter: watch?v=U0aL9rKJPr4

"Faithful friends who are dear to us"- from Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Judy Garland's version makes you realize how sad the lyrics really are: watch?v=yudgy30Dd68

"Joy shall be yours in the morning" from Carol of the by Kenneth Grahame fromWind in the Willows. The poem has been set to many different tunes and covered by different people—Bella Hardy does a nice version found in itunes.

Hrattvaeng- Icelandic- Fast wing

Sleppvell-Sleep well

Konungsgurtha-old Norse name for York

Sólstöður-Solstice

Suthergata - naturally a book dealer would want to live near the National Library!

örugg ferð-safe trip


	2. The Holly and the Ivy

**The Holly and the Ivy**

 **December 22, 1968**

The first full day of winter Eileen and Severus carry (with a discreet _Mobilarbes_ spell) a potted conifer into their sitting room. Da bosses Severus once he's finished untangling the strings of lights, replacing three dead bulbs.

"Electronics is a man's job," he tells Severus. "I leave the cooking to your Mum and you'll do the ornaments this year, you're tall enough." He's in a pretty good mood, the horses he bet on all placed, if not won.

Tobias nurses an ale as Severus carefully unrolls last year's newspaper's which hold the delicate glass bells from Germany and his mother's family. There are also clip on birds with glittery wings, walnut shells covered in gold foil with velvet ribbons and an eggshell ornament, hollowed out with a pair of tiny carolers inside. A salt dough ornament he made last year is a layer down in the box. He insisted on painting Father Christmas with forest green robes, not the usual red, which resulted in a mixed report from his art teacher—"Severus doesn't always follow directions, but his creativity should be encouraged."

He smirks a little as he hangs the green ornament, and tries to imagine what a Slytherin house Christmas tree might look like—all silver and green, delicate metal and glass coils of snakes, wooden Welsh green dragons with teeny figures of Gryffindors held in their mouths. It would have pointed silver stars, maybe throwing stars and green ribbons holding bunches of mistletoe and hellebore…

He turns to check if Tobias has any directions about where the silvered mercury glass globes should go, but Da is lightly snoring in his chair, an empty glass on the side table. Severus shrugs, and after some calculation, distributes the balls amidst the tree branches. They can reflect his father's favorite chair with their mirrored surfaces and serve as a few seconds warning if he wakes up mad and Severus needs to dodge his hand.

He calls to Mum to come see how the tree looks. Eileen sticks her head out through the kitchen door way. She approves and tells him to put holly and mistletoe about the doors and at the windows. He know that it is to ward the house. Afterwards, she'll go around and add her magic to the seasonal greenery.

"Will Hrattvaeng get home in time for Christmas?" he asks quietly, so as not to wake Tobias.

"Very nearly, I suspect. Don't fret, child, she's a very intelligent bird. Why don't you go read up on runes—not their divination uses, but their other applications in binding spells and ward fortifications?"

Severus darts up the stairs and brings down a book on runes. To his father, it looks like an old copy of _The Railway Children_. He settles in at the kitchen table with a mug of tea Mum makes him and enjoys the smells of supper cooking, a beef stew (low on the beef, heavy on the veg) and thick crusty bread baking that will sop up the liquids.

 **Have a holly jolly Christmas**

 **December 23, 1968**

Mum is baking many dozen biscuits. There are some for the carolers who will be by tomorrow night and some for the family to snack on before Christmas dinner which is goose, potatoes, kale from the garden, bread, trifle and plum pudding. She's also planning which foods Tobias can easily reheat while she and Severus are away in York.

Severus finished most of the _Beginner's Runes_ and is reading an American book for kids that Anna had sent for his birthday last year that had been on his shelf of "books to read when I'm older." _A Wrinkle in Time_ even has witches in it. The Murrays seem a bit like his family in that other people think they're weird, especially Charles Wallace.

Last week Mum pulled out more books—so he has a pile by his bed—Dickens' _Christmas Carol_ with its ghosts, the thin book _A Child's Christmas in Wales_ , Serendy's _White_ _Stag_ , The Night before Christmas and from his paternal grandmother, a hymnal with carols and a book about St. Nicholas and Father Christmas.

Besides the Christmas books, there are the stories Eileen thinks of as winter-time ones, that are haunting reads when darkness falls by three in the afternoon and dawn is just a paler shade of grey. These include Icelandic tales from the Edda of Fenrir devouring Odin at Ragnarok, stories about the sacrifice of the Holly King and the Ivy King, each in turn in his appointed season. The stories tell Severus that noble causes don't make for automatic victors and that time washes away even the names of real people, turning them into legends or place names.

"What's Anna like?" he asks Mum when he finishes a chapter and marks his place. She didn't attend Hogwarts, so he has no shorthand of stereotypes to guess what sort of a person she might be. Some people, like Da, act different when they're at home versus High Street where everyone can see them.

"A good question, my prince," she replies, wiping her floury hands on her apron. "She's never been married, no children. She's a bit older than me and has run her rare book business for more than 25 years, even during the last world war. She is very blunt about telling me I married a mistake of a man. But she's a good enough friend that she stays in touch with me by post a few times a year and she's sent me money for your birthday gifts in the past. She's looking forward to meeting you, I've told her about you."

She pauses for a minute and thinks some more as she peeks into the oven to see how the latest batch of biscuits is coming along.

"She's helped her nieces and nephews obtain university scholarships with her coaching. She's a Rune mistress, loves music, Wizard or muggle makes no difference to her. She has a side business as a curse breaker of medieval and earlier artifacts. Ask her to tell you about the reindeer horn runes and spell that stumped her for nearly a year until a squib and a reindeer animagus helped her sort it out."

She sets him to cutting up vegetables as she removes the sugary treats from the oven and puts in yet another batch. The carolers come to all the houses in their neighborhood on Christmas Eve each year, and she's not going to be shamed on her street by having nothing to give them.

Some muggle traditions she cleaves to, like the wassailers getting food and drink as a reward and not airing her family's dirty laundry (actual and metaphoric) in public. Others, like church attendance or sending her son to fetch his father from the pub as a nightly ritual she ignores.

When the second batch has cooled, Severus frosts them.

"Practice makes perfect. Do a few practice ones and then decorate two dozen with one rune apiece and we'll bring them with us as a gift for Anna, under a statis spell and wax paper in a tin."

Severus makes an S on a biscuit for himself that gets blobby, so he decides it can be a snake. The letter E goes on another one which he hands to his mum with a quick smile and a little bow.

She quirks a corner of her mouth at him. "Wouldn't want you to be forgetting the man of the house, my little snake. Himself might get upset."

He squinches up his nose in disgust, picks the smallest cookies up and glops a messy T on it for Da. It's more than he deserves. He sets it aside on a saucer and turns to the page in his book showing the runes. He sets to work, tongue sticking out between his lips as he concentrates on Jera so the tips of each part don't meet.

Notes:

The Holly and the Ivy

Have a Holly Jolly Christmas


	3. Here we come A-Wassailing

**Here We Come A-Wassailing 7:36 pm**

 **December 24, 1968**

The carolers can be heard long before their torches and an old fashioned railway lantern carried by an adult are seen. There are a dozen or so kids of all sizes, with Mrs. Pridgedon and a woman with unremarkable brown hair serving as chaperones. Severus recognizes the Pridgedon kids, of course, and exchanges wary nods with two boys he recognizes from his maths class. They sing "Deck the Halls" and follow up with "Greensleeves" and "The Wassail Song".

They look a bit nervous as Eileen invites them inside. The Snapes, mother and son, have a neighborhood reputation for being more than a bit "odd" what with their old fashioned turns of phrase and Severus' clothes which are clearly second hand or fashioned from his parents' cast offs.

The kids shuffle in and crowd into the small entry hall for treats. Eileen hands around mugs of eggnog and Severus is entrusted with passing a large plate piled with biscuits. Since they are at the end of the street, the Snapes are the final stop of the neighborhood. Once they're done here, the majority of singers will pile into cars parked a few streets over and serenade people on the better side of town, and then disperse to their homes.

The platter down to two biscuits, Severus approaches two girls who are sticking close to their brunette mother.

"You're Petunia and Lily, right? I think I've seen you in the park," he says, surprising himself and his mother with his show of friendliness as he hands each a biscuit. Mum's probably worrying he'll get sorted into Hufflepuff at this rate.

"Yes, we are," says Petunia bossily. This is our Mum, Mrs. Evans." She doesn't introduce Severus to her mother in turn. Mrs. Evans takes a final sip of her eggnog and smiles tentatively at Severus' mother. "I give a lot of the children piano lessons and Mrs. Pridgedon is choirmistress at the Methodist Chapel on Melbourne Road if you'd like to attend services, Mrs. Snape. Maybe you'd like Severus to learn the piano?"

"Perhaps, I'll think on it," says Eileen, not quite quashing the suggestion as she begins gathering mugs from those who have finished.

Severus turns to Lily boldly and says, "Are you having a good holiday?"

Her face lights up. "Oh it's been grand, we've had singing and baking and new clothes for Christmas day services and candles at supper and I just love Christmas! What do you love about it?"

A number of inappropriate responses that would get him smacked by Mum and whipped by Da go through Severus' head. He looks closely at her. She's actually curious about what he thinks. He says quietly, "I think it's the wind blowing in the cold dark that seems to sing sad songs if you listen hard enough. In the day time, it's maybe the traditions we all weave year after year into a pattern."

She stops mid-bite on a biscuit. "I like that idea a lot," she declares decisively. "I'll listen to the wind tonight and Christmas night and New Year's Eve and tell you what I hear. Will you tell me about patterns when we're back at school?"

"If you like," says Severus awkwardly, trying to sound like it's nothing important. He's still not sure why he's talking with her instead using of his communication default modes of sullen silence or surly monosyllables. Her eyes are very very green, like spring grass in the park or the spiky leaves of crocus bulbs his mum grows for mere pinches of saffron.

Petunia sniffs dismissively. She darts a glance at their mother, who is busy rewrapping scarves around the necks of the younger singers. Knowing she won't be overhead, she says, "You don't want people to think you're a weirdo like _him_ , Lily."

Lily sticks out her tongue at her sister and says, "Mummy didn't leave you in charge of who I choose as my friends. So there, bossy-pants."

"Bratty baby," hisses Petunia and turns her back on her sister and puts on her coat and stomps outside.

"See you in school?" Lily asks Severus, as she pulls on her mittens in a businesslike fashion.

"Maybe, I dunno," he says, suddenly shy.

His mother shoots him the Where are Your Manners Look across the hallway. He stands up straight and says politely, "Happy Christmas Lily, see you next year. Happy Christmas, Mrs. Evans."

"You too! Bye, Severus!" Lily says, pulling a red and green hat over her orange hair and bouncing out the door with the rest of the carolers.

Mother and son look at each other over the debris of crumbs on the platter and in the cheap carpet. Eileen has eight mugs hooked over her fingers and an odd expression on her face.

"I suppose that went off well. Another year of trying to live down being the freaks of Spinners Lane, eh?"

Severus isn't sure how to answer that. He doesn't get truly new clothes that often. His mum's blouses have been altered into shirts for him on occasion. Most of the carolers' families have more money that his family does and nicer houses. Their fathers don't work in factories like Da. They're professional men with university degrees or respectable tradesmen like Mr. Pridgedon.

So he says instead, "They always like your biscuits, Mum, and the adults, even the Methodists, appreciate the brandy you splash in the eggnog."

His mum's gaze sharpens. "And what's suddenly so entrancing about Mrs. Evans' youngest, my boy?"

Severus flushes. "I'm… not certain. Do you think she could be one of us? She seems so much more… alive than her sister or mum."

"Maybe she is, maybe she isn't. But until you see her do something magic, don't tell your secrets or mine, is that understood?"

He nods reluctantly. She looks at him fiercely, and enunciates clearly, "Severus…do you understand?"

"Yes, mum, I won't say anything about magic, unless I know she's a witch," he promises.

Mum is almost as scary as Da when she gets angry. Maybe she's even scarier, because in his world, she's the one who doesn't rage, break things or curse fluently. She stews a lot, like a noxious bitter potion on constant simmer, but she doesn't usually boil over because of something he's done.

"So, do you pine for piano lessons or want to sing boy soprano solos in a choir?"

He shakes his head violently. "I wouldn't have time to learn what I need to know for Hogwarts as well as my regular school work if I had to practice all the time."

"I'm pure blood, not made of money, my boy. I'm not investing in a time turner, that's for certain. That's a sure way to run yourself exhausted and into a bad illness."

"I can't see how learning music is helpful to me. You can always enchant an instrument to play itself."

"I agree. But you should know how to fight, both Muggle style and magical. A wizard wouldn't expect a knife or a kick to the bollocks in a close fight, and that could be the winning difference. I think you and your Da are going to bond over boxing at the workingman's club in the new year," she says meditatively, ignoring Severus' groan.

He hates doing anything with his father, it is just another opportunity to get mocked for talking too posh and sounding like a pouf, which usually gets followed by a smack to his head or mouth. Having Da associate him with punching bags was just not on. He knows better than to argue with Mum when she's in this sort of mood, though, so he says goodnight and goes upstairs to his room.

It's cold up there, and he changes into his pajamas and wooly sleep socks hastily. He hopes Mum reconsiders the idea of boxing lessons. He's been in a few fights already after school when some imbecile has called his Da a drunken bastard or his Mum the Witch of Spinner's Lane.

Both slurs are true, but it's not for anyone outside their family to go hurling such insults in his hearing. He dives in and his long arms and legs are an advantage when it comes to kicking and holding off blows or landing them. He knows better than to scuffle when teachers or other adults are nearby. You don't stay unnoticed with a reputation for troublemaking. If someone shows up with a few bruises at school it's ignored as an example of "boys will be boys" or "spare the rod, spoil the child."

He settles under the quilt and blankets. The wind isn't that strong tonight, it doesn't moan or sing. Instead it whispers of the end of things. It is the end of the year, 1968 lies comatose, mere days from death. He wonders what the end of the century will be like. He'll be 40 soon after the year 2000 starts. That sounds so far away, it's very hard to imagine. He can imagine himself being taller and maybe knowing how to act polite, like an adult without Mum's reminders, but how do you know when you're grown-up? Do you feel different and then know you're grown up?

Severus can't come up with a satisfying answer to that question, so he turns to his comforting lists. He's tired of ice, so he decides to go to the letter J. J is for January and his birthday. Juvenile is a J word, often followed by delinquent. Jelly legs jinx, juniper, jaundice, jolly, jokes (he's overheard a few gross but funny ones at school), junior, jaundice and jasmine. J's not good for insults, so he moves on.

K is King Wenceslas, and K's the Killing Curse, A-something Kedavra he wishes he could use on his father when he beats Severus and his mum. K is for krill, they studied ocean life recently and about whales, barnacles, octopus, fish, oysters, shrimp and lobsters.

Lobster, a good L word. Rich people eat lobster and drink champagne. Lilacs, lavender, love-in-a-mist, lovage, lettuce leaves, lacewings, Liverpool, lotions, lilies… Lily. He stops short in his listing.

Why did she smile at him tonight? Did it mean anything? Maybe she likes him enough she might actually want to be his friend.

He doesn't rely on people keeping their promises, but maybe this new season will bring new and better things when he's nine, a magical number, three times three. Maybe he'll have a real friend.


	4. On Christmas Day in the Morning

**On Christmas Day in the Morning**

 **December 25, 1968 8:40 a.m.**

He wakes to the sound of his father slamming his feet down onto the floor into slippers and the banging of water pipes in the bathroom. He knows he can malinger in bed for at least a half-hour. It's a holiday, so Da will bother to shave after his quick bath, even though his five o'clock shadow will show up by three.

Tobias downs three aspirin with the hangover potion that Eileen left for him. She's never told him it is a muggle-modified pepper-up potion, and he makes sure to not look at his face in the mirror while taking it so that he can ignore the steam drifting out of his ears. That way it could be steam from the hot water he used for shaving. He doesn't mind avoiding pain and the head pounding that sounds too much like the heavy machinery clanging he's forced to endure hearing during the work week. He just doesn't need visual proof that his wife and his son are freakishly different from his coworkers' families.

Even drinking makes certain things hard to forget, like his anger that his life hasn't gone the way he expected, he should have been promoted to at least a shift supervisor by now. His little woman wasn't at all who he thought she was when he met her and won her over. No amount of smacking her into line seems to make her normal. The weirdness in her just keeps popping up in different unforeseeable ways, as it does in their boy.

His parents, good church-going folk, believed in spare the rod, spoil the child so he got beaten regularly when he misbehaved as a kid or even showed signs in that direction and he turned out okay, he thinks, as he zips his trousers and goes downstairs after thumping on Severus' door to get the lazy bugger moving.

The three of them sit down to Christmas breakfast, which is like any other breakfast except there are cookies to go with the tea as a treat. Tobias goes for a stroll in the garden while he smokes his first cigarette of the day and squints at the Christmas rose in the shady corner, which, like clockwork each year, had flowers that budded yesterday and came into full bloom this morning. What fucking use is having magic power if you use it for stupid things like making plants grow instead of making money or ruling the world?

Inside, Severus helps Eileen clean up the dishes. Looking out the window he sees his father snap a bloom off the hellebore and grind it under his shoe.

"Did you want me to get some Christmas roses before Da destroys them all, Mum?" he asks. He knows everything except the _Helleborus niger's_ roots are toxic and can cause symptoms ranging from vomiting and throat and tongue swelling to cardiac arrest.

"I harvested some of it before the two of you were up." She snorts as she watches Tobias pull off another dark blossom and stomp on it.. "In flower language Christmas Rose means: Relieve my anxiety. I don't think that's how Victorian lovers meant it, but he's certainly taking out his frustrations and anxieities on that plant."

"Better a plant than us," says Severus sharply and puts away the blue and white platter that is decorated with a wizarding party on camels near the Pyramids and Sphinx. He likes the teacup with the scene of a cobalt blue Icelandic volcano captured mid-eruption in the eighteenth century.

"Other people's china shows English country views or that clichéd Blue Willow scene," Mum told him once. "Ours was a wedding gift to me from a friend and has depictions of important magic sites where ley lines cross and meet."

Tobias only smokes one cigarette and Severus relaxes fractionally. Dad's level of impatience can often be calibrated by how many he smokes first thing in the morning. One is fine, two is a warning and three means that Severus better lie low and put notice me not charms on himself and his things. Even better is getting out of the house and going for a several hours ramble along the murky river and around town. Mum gave him a beacon charm last summer. If the stone in his pocket gets almost uncomfortably warm, he's wanted at home.

They settle in the parlor around the Christmas tree and sort out the presents until the three of them each have a pile of brightly wrapped boxes in front of their chairs.

He was right, he got a jumper. At least the color's a good one, a deep forest green, not, thank Merlin, a red one. He gets a hat and gloves that Mum knit him to match, with black stripes on the end of the cap and wrists of the gloves. Since he rarely sees her knitting, he suspects his jumper owns its existence to crafting charms or self-knit spells.

There's also an old dress of Mum's she's converted into a grey vest with lots of pockets for him. It will hold rocks, coins, charms materials and random things like a five leafed clover he finds and brings home. Some of his finds end up in the kitchen junk drawer or displayed on the shelves in his bedroom until the his growing library crowds them out.

Mum sets a larger box aside and says "open this one last."

The gifts labelled "from Da" include a black belt and heavier thick soled winter boots. A small box snaps open to reveal a very grown up looking wrist watch with a black leather band and Roman numerals that he puts on immediately.

He knows Mum took the time and trouble to buy the gifts, but he's no fool so he mimics a smile by baring his teeth at Da and thanking him profusely for the watch. "It's just like yours, Da, that's so neat!" he exclaims, knowing Tobias would like his son to be his carbon copy and imitate him. Flattery is a small price to pay for a calm Christmas day.

His stocking contains an orange, walnuts, and some chocolates and a pocket knife like Boy Guides have with all those extra fold out tools.

His big gift from Mum is a potion kit for beginners. It's under a glamour to look Muggle so Tobias doesn't smash it. "My first chemistry set" proclaims the box lid, which shows to alarmingly cheerful boys with unnatural fixed smiles bent over a smoking test tube. Underneath them the manufacturer promises "It's Education! Magic! Fun!"

"Use that out in the garden shed so you don't burn the house down," Tobias orders.

"Yes, sir," parrots Severus and watches as his Da opens his pile of presents. Boring. Predictable. New clothing, new shoes. Severus signed his name on a box of several handkerchiefs to help combat the colds and sinus problems the factory work gives Da. Mum knit him a balaclava so his nose doesn't freeze on the walks to and from work and the pub.

Mum's pile is far smaller than Tobias' or Severus'. Tobias gives Eileen a couple of romance novels—"Snodgrass' wife likes these things, so I thought you might, too" he explains, referring to his supervisor's wife.

Mentally, Severus shakes his head in exasperation. After a dozen years married the man still doesn't know that she finds romance novels improbable and silly and goes more for PD James or Ian Fleming than Mills and Boone?

"It's a nice thought, Toby," says Eileen and pats his hand absent-mindedly as she turns her attention to Severus' gift. He found an old dried flower pin with a rock crystal cover over it in a junk store a few months back for a 10p. Prying it open, he took out the old greying flower out and put in three of the four leaf clovers he'd found and pressed into a dictionary to dry.

"It's for luck in the new year," he tells Mum as she gives him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. It will go well on the lapel of the dark green coat she bought herself for their York expedition.


	5. Rambles in the Shambles

**December 30, 1968**

 **11:45 a.m.**

They linger near the main notice board of the train station, its mechanical clacking as trains arrive and depart and schedules get updated becoming a soothing white noise against the shuffling of shoes and clicking of heels on the hard floor, the murmur of a crowd of people that pools then flows away from where they stand. A light notice-me-not glamour drapes over them and their luggage. A shabbily dressed wizard nods at them in passing, but they seem to otherwise be the only non-Muggles in the place.

"We're the small still center as the world whirls around us with its waves of seething humanity," announces a woman's voice behind them.

Severus whirls, crouched and fists clenched and Eileen freezes for a moment, then relaxes and turns around.

"Anna!" She holds out both hands, they kiss each other's cheeks like Europeans and then hug like touchy-feely Americans.

He hopes Anna doesn't want to hug him. Severus stands as tall and stiffly as he can, hands at his sides, dark eyes taking in his mother's friend. She's tall, nearly a foot of height on Mum, so maybe an inch or so below six feet tall. She looks to be in her late thirties or early forties, younger than his mother, though he knows from Mum's story about her that she's probably closer to sixty or seventy. Her hair is blond-white and cut in a bob that suits her strong face.

Clothing—fine quality, wool in greys and a violet blouse. It fits too well to be second hand, altered or off the rack—(bespoke, a memory of his mother's voice talking about Malfoys supplies the correct term). Sharp grey-blue eyes inspect him as closely as he watches her. She's not slim nor fat, but sturdily built.

In her favor, she doesn't ask stupid questions such as, "Oh, this must be Severus? How did he get so big?" as some adults do. He hates those asinine comments almost as much as the hearty blows to his shoulder his Da's mates do sometimes, trying to "relate" to him in an over-hearty male fashion.

"Anna Sigurdardottir, my son Severus Snape. Severus, this is my friend, Anna Sigurdardottir," says Eileen, introducing him with a touch of maternal pride. Severus takes Anna's offered hand, noting a few faded salamander burns and politely bows over it as "Etiquette for all Magical Beings" suggests when one is not quite sure of the social rank of a witch to whom one is introduced.

"Excellent, Severus," Anna says. "And if I were a muggle lady of your mother's acquaintance?"

He holds out his right hand and carefully, gently shakes hers. "I'm pleased to meet you, Miss

Sigurdardottir."

He shoots a quick look at Mum who nods and smiles slightly. "Go ahead, you may ask her."

"Did Hrattvaeng get home in time for Christmas?" He's been wondering about the owl since she flew off with the reply letter from Mum to Anna.

"In time for a late afternoon snack of mice and mince pie, to be sure," she says, pleased. "Now, let's get you two resettled at my hotel. I've got you the rooms next to mine and the hotel is on a quiet street not far from the Shambles." She holds out a dried up apple core with an R, Riadho, the rune for wagon and travel cut into the leftover flesh. "One minute to go."

It's a portkey, Severus realizes, as he and Eileen both reach for the fruit and are soon whirled away to a hotel alcove with their luggage.

To Severus' mind, there's no other word but luxurious to describe their rooms—plural—in the hotel. The carpet is very thick underfoot, the loo has marble in it with a shower stall and a bathtub. The furniture is antique, not just old like the furniture at home. The mattress on the spool bed he's to sleep in is very comfortable and bounces satisfactorily when he jumps onto it.

He sets his small pile of clothing in a single bureau drawer, places his shoes under the bureau and pads out in sock feet to find that the main room has undergone a transformation. An elegant meter high Christmas tree is perched on a table with presents under it. Some are in silver paper with black snowflakes and others are wrapped in black paper with silver snowflakes.

"Severus, get your gift for Anna," suggests Mum. Suddenly remembering the iced biscuits at the bottom of his knapsack, Severus heads back to his room. Soon the tin and a few small packages from Mum for Anna join the pile.

"All set for a belated Yule," says Anna, with satisfaction. "Now, would you like to have tea and talk or nap or take a walk?"

"Tea and talk," says Eileen. "Walk about," says Severus at the same time.

Anna laughs. "Easily enough done, for both of you." She pulls a twenty pound note from her skirt pocket and gives it to a disbelieving Severus along with a map with bookshops and their hotel's location marked on it. "Tomorrow we'll visit the wizarding part of York. Today, why not go see some of the muggle stores, they're all within 10 blocks of here."

Severus looks at his mum. She's going to let him roam around a city he's never been in, alone?

Anna raises an eyebrow at Eileen. "Almost nine years old. Is Polyjuice okay, no allergies?"

Eileen shakes her head. "No allergies. Be back for supper, Severus. Say, half-past five."

Anna hands Severus a pile of clothing and passes the vial of Polyjuice potion to him. He retreats to the ensuite bath to down it and put on the change of clothes. He ends up looking like a brown haired, hazel eyed teenager, maybe fifteen and a foot or so taller than he is in his usual body. He's got a black polo shirt, jeans and an Icelandic pullover in cream with shades of brown at the yoke and wrists. They all fit perfectly. He returns to find the women pouring tea.

His deeper voice startles him when he speaks.

"May I spend all of it, Miss Sigurdardottir?"

"Yes," says Anna. "Of course, treat yourself."

"You have your beacon stone?" asks Eileen. In reply, he holds it up and puts it in his satchel.

"Have fun, don't buy more books than you can carry."

He promises not to, and leaves the hotel in a rush after consulting the map. No one accosts him, a young teenage girl smiles at him and, his face flushing, he nervously smiles back. He's astounded when she winks at him before flouncing into a Marks and Sparks with a flip of her long brown, very straight hair. She's cute, but not as pretty as Lily Evans, the standard by which he judges all girls.

It's a great afternoon, mooching and rambling about the city. He drinks more of the potion on the hour, every hour. He wanders several blocks beyond the furthest bookstore. There are all sorts of stores, many of which cater to wealthy people. He notices a chair in a window labeled Chippendale and is astounded at the price.

A bored salesgirl at a jewelry store starts chatting to him when he asks her if they have any star sapphires. He's seen photos, but never one in person. Since no one else is in the store and her boss isn't around, she shows him a pendant with the blue stone and its six pointed star. Then she points out emeralds and opals from Australia and dark red Bohemian garnets, his birthstone. In the estate jewelry section, there's an art nouveau pin in the shape of a snake with enameled red eyes and green scales. It costs far more than twenty pounds. For now, his clover pin for Mum will have to do. When he's grown up and rich, or at least richer, he will buy Mum all sorts of lovely things including a cottage far, far from Cokeworth with a real greenhouse and a house elf to do the housekeeping.

He swings back in the direction of the hotel. He finds a book on gemstones in Waterstone's and a pamphlet about Historic York in Smith's. Seeing the ghosts of a legion of Roman soldiers walking through York would be very cool…

One small bookshop on a narrow lane has lots of books about Scandanavia, runes and methods of divination. He sees why it would appeal to Anna. A book entitled "The White Goddess" looks interesting, there's something about Ogham and runes in it. He buys that for his "to read later when I'm older shelf".

The next place has a section of kid's books. Half hidden by dozens of Enid Blyton and Angela Brazil titles, a glamoured book tugs at his fingers, pulling his hand to its spine. "So you want to play Quidditch?" by Adrian Prewitt shifts in and out of view, replacing "The Jolliest Term on Record" as the title. He rescues it from its muggle captivity and closes his eyes to better sense any other strands of magic in the store. He ends up in the history section, all eras and nationalities jumbled together.

"The Life of a North Country Bishop" is actually "The Care and Handling of Dark Artifacts" by Septimus Black, published in 1888. "John Jay, Colonial Lawyer" on a dusty bottom shelf reveals itself to be "Slytherins—Famed and Fortunate: a biographical reference". He's glad he thought to bring his satchel along. Six books would be a lot of juggle, in even a teenager's hands.

He has seven pounds left, but he decides to save it for later. Be prepared, as the Boy Guides handbook says. Magic or not, books often contain useful maxims, and ones less obscure than Mum's.


	6. The Lucky Bat

When he enters their hotel room, the lights are all off except for one dim lamp near the couch. Mum is sleeping in Anna's arms, lying half atop her. He raises and eyebrow in reaction at his mum's puffy red eyes. She cried for a long time for them to get so red.

Anna lifts one hand, finger to her lips to quiet him. He nods and retreats to his room with his printed prizes. The last dose of the polyjuice wears off about ten minutes later, a tingly feeling darting over his skin like St. Elmo's fire on ship riggings. He's a little tired, but otherwise fine. He changes into his usual clothes after finishing the third chapter of _Dark Artifacts_. He goes back into the sitting room, padding silently on the cushy deep carpet.

His mum is stirring is stirring as Anna shakes her shoulder and pushes the dark hair away from her face.

"C'mon Eileen, wake up, chere ami. Ton fils est ici and he doubtless wants his dinner."

Embarassingly, Severus' stomach agrees with a loud churning gurgle. Anna laughs and Severus, blushing to his ear tips, is shocked to hear his mother… giggle?

He's familiar with her short bark of a laugh at life's ironies and her snort that accompanies wry scornful appraisals of her husband's many foibles. But he's never heard her giggle, ever before.

Of course he's also never met any of her friends before. He's willing to let Anna bribe him some more to get further into his good graces, but already he likes the person his mum becomes when Anna is around.

He's sent to fetch his coat and hat for the walk to the restaurant. He comes back to find Anna helping Mum on with her coat, lifting her hair free of the collar where Severus's pin gleams.

Anna exclaims, passing her fingers over it. "How clever, Severus, you even put a bit of your magic signature in it to personalize it!"

He blinks, and feeling safe enough to appear dumb before them, says, "I did?"

"Oh yes, my Prince. Accidental magic or half deliberate, its resonance matches your aura," says Eileen smiling at Severus and then bestowing another smile on Anna who only wears her sweater and puts a flat cap on her head. "Warming charms are enough for your mild climate, "she explains, shrugging.

"So what were you thinking of when you picked the clovers and put together the pin, young master Snape?" she asks, as the lift deposits the three of them in the lobby.

"Dunno… I wanted the clovers would bring me luck when I picked them last summer and I thought about how the green would pick up the light flecks in Mum's eyes. I wished for her to have lots of good luck this new year. I recited a few cantrips and charms over it."

"Hmm, interesting. You don't get a wand until you go off to school at 11, am I correct?"

Severus nods. "Yes, ma'am. I've used Mum's sometimes, of course."

"Would you like to know which woods are a good match with your magic?" she asked.

"Yes, please!"

Eileen puts her arm companionably through Anna's as they walk to the restaurant, Severus trotting a few paces in front of them.

"I think, Eileen, pure blood eugenics claims to the contrary, that your half-blood son is likely a very powerful wizard in the making. I have my runes with me and a few other aptitude tests I can do, if you like," says Anna.

"It's always interesting to watch you work, Anna," Eileen agrees. "If Severus wishes it, of course you may. He's old enough to start knowing his preferences at nearly nine."

Severus turns around, and walking backwards, addresses Anna. "I would like that very much, thank you. What could you show me in only a few days?"

"An indication of your magic's levels compared to others your age, the elements your magic works best with—if it is more light, grey or dark, what you might have an aptitude for in your courses. A reading of your star chart, young Capricorn, and some other divination—but no reading of entrails," she finishes, winking at Eileen.

"Gods, that was a disgusting experiment." Eileen includes Sev in their conversation with her raised voice. "She was into recreating Roman divination rituals that summer. There she is, wearing a once white, blood stained chiton, up to her elbows in guts, muttering about spotted livers and bladders and she utterly forgets how intestines' color and consistency affect the augury. That experiment was a washout, a rank-smelling one."

"Not for the crows, ravens, wolves and flies in the area," points out Anna. "If we'd been in Scotland, you probably would have insisted on making haggis."

"Waste not, want not," intones Eileen.

Severus grimaces. He's read about the dish and can't imagine stuffed sheep's stomach as a delicacy. At least it's not rotted, fermented shark which Icelanders consume willingly, not even being threatened at wand point.

"Stop, turn widdershins, Severus," instructs Anna and indicates a passageway perhaps three feet across. A half dozen paces in, a red door breaks the face of the brick wall. It has a gold dragon's head shaped doorknob and shiny brass plate with a bat with curled wing tips. A tap of Anna's wand to the bat admits them to a small landing. Wonderful smells are wafting up the cellar stairs. Downstairs, the Lucky Bat is a bustling Chinese restaurant with wizards and witches from all over. They settle into a dark wood booth with high backed seats. Anna gracefully waves her wand and flowerlike the backs flow up to meet a few feet above their heads like a closing Venus flytrap or a snug, old fashioned railway sleeper carriage.

Eileen sniffs, draws her wand and her empty water glass changes into a wine goblet holding a sweet port. Another swish and flick and spells work to make the white table cloth black and the napkins a Christmasy Slytherin green. A candelabra materializes in the middle of the table to lend an air of festivity.

Anna rolls her eyes. "You British, so restrained." She traces a circle, and says "Corona ilex et hedera ab extra," and a holly and ivy wreath encircles the candleholder's base. "Visci!" and a mistletoe kissing ball hangs over the table, emitting light in a milky, pearly white glow from its berries. "Acta non verba," she says, quirking a challenging eyebrow at Eileen.

"You act, I'd rather eat," says Eileen.

A trio of fairies approaches their table, tinkling Christmas carols until Severus hisses a stinging curse in their direction. "Scrooge! Spoilsport! Blackheart!" they spit at him as they beat a hasty retreat and go to bother the other patrons.

"What would you like to drink, Severus?" asks Mum, indicating the floating pen and order pad hovering by their table.

"Butterbeer?" he glances at her for permission. She nods.

"Your best firewhiskey for me, please, all of us on the same tab," says Anna. She proceeds to order egg drop soup, hot and sour soup, spring rolls and egg rolls and pork dumplings for Severus to try since he's never had Chinese food before. Eileen goes for the green winter melon soup. Half of the appetizers are wrapped up so they have some room for entrees.

General Tsao's chicken, shrimp and broccoli and small corn ears on sticky rice are ordered by the women. Because he likes the name, Severus orders Happy Family.

When the food arrives, Severus looks around, wondering where the eating utensils are.

"Watch and learn, grasshopper," says Mum and opens a red paper packet, splits a pair of wood sticks and rubs them against each other to rid them of splinters.

"What, I stab at everything with them?" he asks, as he imitates her.

"Chopsticks, not stab-sticks," says Mum, smirking as she does at jokes so private she never shares them with her family.

"Stop teasing the child. Here, watch me," says Anna. She arranges the ends of the chopsticks in her right hand, thumb angled between her index and middle fingers. Demurely she scoops up a single grain of rice and eats it. She looks expectantly over at Severus in challenge.

Severus goggles. It looks like he's expected to do the culinary equivalent of creating a full blown Patronus on his first try. He looks dubiously at his fingers, wrapped awkwardly, trying to do a pincher movement that might bring the pointed ends together. He takes a fortifying gulp of his butterbeer, holding it in his other hand.

"At least try, my Prince. We'll take pity on you and get you a fork once you've practiced a while," promises his mum.

To distract him, she tells him about how she became the Gobstones champion of her year for Slytherin House for several years running at Hogwarts. Anna willingly tells him the story of the reindeer horn with the runes that refused to be deciphered. The wizard who had set up the spell's unraveling at the time of Erasmus had not allowed for Anna Sigurdsdadottir's determination to gather a wizard with a wolf patronus, a Runes Mistress (herself), a reindeer Animagus and a highly informative reindeer who was determined to end the magically induced wasting disease of livestock in the area, including her herd.

To his surprise, he finds himself more than half-way through his dish, even allowing for his questions for Anna about the darker magic aspects of the disease curse.


End file.
